Failings
by SpecialParanoia
Summary: Seventh year. Oneshot. An innocent teenager is sent to Azkaban in his attempts to help the Light. Guilt is a terrible burden to bear especially several liftimes worth...


**Disclaimer:** I have two words for you- Not. Mine.

My take on the prophecy, Draco's loyalties, and the guilt several men carry at the imprisonment of an innocent teenager. Seventh year. One-shot.

**A/N:** Be warned- While this fic _is _a one-shot, it is not actually finished at the moment. There _will_ be more to come, but I've come down with a bad case of writer's block. I'm hoping that any response I receive will help get me going again, and I feel that what I have done is adequate to be posted now. Further explanation below, but DON'T JUMP DOWN TO IT, or you'll ruin the story for yourself. So, without further ado...

* * *

**Failings**

_Azkaban._ Disgusting, dirty, smelly, crumbling fortress of evil and despair, festering with the soulless cancers of society that had once claimed to be witches and wizards. All of them deserved the hell in which they lived- if indeed their cold hearts held any regret or emotion, any haunting memory they truly couldn't bear to relive- abandoned to the mercy of the Dementors. All were guilty of heinous, unspeakable crimes that couldn't be forgiven. All- but one.

* * *

" 'Least one of them's locked up."

"Too bad it's not the right one. I'd rather the little Malfoy loose any day."

"True enough, but we should take what we can get."

The two guards lingered at Draco Malfoy's cell a moment longer, staring down at the teenager lying half on his side and slightly sprawled where he'd been dumped unceremoniously in the middle of the small space. With an abrupt shake, the elder of the two came back to himself and led the way back to the front entrance of the fortress and their specially warded office to escape the unearthly, unnatural cold, ignoring the desperate calls of the prisoners as they passed. They were all mad, anyway.

* * *

Hours passed before Draco came around- stiff, aching, cold and confused. A thick haze had settled itself around his mind, making it hard to piece everything together while an acute sense of vertigo prevented any effort he might have made to get up off the rough stone floor.

_'Stone?'_

Memories trickled through the haze slowly at first- the confrontation with his father in Hogsmeade, frantically searching for Harry, all the screaming, curses flying- then realization struck him like a fierce blow, mind suddenly clearing even as the blood seemed to freeze in his veins.

_'Merlin help me- Azkaban.'_

* * *

Albus Dumbledore stared at the front page of the Daily Prophet not with his usual twinkle, but an angry gleam lighting up his blue eyes. If young Draco had had any sympathizers before, he likely didn't after Rita Skeeter's latest article.

"The woman certainly knows how to go for the kill, doesn't she? It's unfortunate she doesn't use that ability for good." The Headmaster sighed and lay down the paper, turning his attention to the Potions Master.

"Too true, my dear boy," he replied. "I see you've finished collecting Draco's things from his dormitory. I trust you've found everything?"

"Yes sir," Severus sighed as he sat down in the visitor's chair, placing his boxes on the floor by his feet, "though I must admit I don't see what it would really matter. His family wants none of it. They disowned the boy before he even went to trial. I just can't fathom why..."

Albus considered his young associate for long moments over his steepled fingers, noting the slight slump of his tense shoulders, the weariness in his stance, the purple shadows under his onyx eyes. The guilt Severus Snape carried, however misplaced, affected every part of him deeply and though no one else would notice the subtle changes in him as of late, they couldn't be more obvious to the wizened old wizard.

Sighing deeply, the headmaster reached into his desk and pulled out an envelope, placing it in front of his former student.

"This should explain everything- I have been assured it would. However, if you still have questions, feel free to voice them. I only ask that you be certain you will accept the answers I give you." Severus raised a curious eyebrow and hesitated, but when no further explanation was forthcoming he reached out a tentative hand and took the folded parchments.

* * *

Only moments after settling himself on the thin cot, Draco decided the floor had been no less comfortable. 

_'Not that you deserve any better. Potter's dead now because of you. Brilliant work, Malfoy.'_

Bitterness had begun to seep into the already overwhelming mix of emotions churning within him- despair, anger helplessness, guilt- and he began to wonder how long it would be before the blessed numbness of emotional shutdown set in. Not that he wanted to give up- Malfoys _never_ quit. No, it wasn't quitting. Draco was accepting the situation for what it was. He would die in Azkaban, and there was no way around it. He wasn't afraid of that. Death didn't scare him. Nor did the notion of a lifetime among the remaining Dementors despite what he knew he would see. _Living_- living to hear the inevitable news of Harry Potter's fate after the final battle terrified the boy to no end.

_'I don't deserve to live longer than Potter. Punishment though it may be, it's not enough. I'm sorry, Harry.'_

* * *

Harry locked the dormitory door behind him and cast the strongest wards and silencing spells he could, making his way over to his bed on shaky legs. Instead of sinking down onto the soft mattress, he slumped against the wall and slid to the floor, Daily Prophet slipping from slack fingers. The full reality of the situation hadn't hit him until today. 

_'Draco's in Azkaban.'_

Guilt flooded over him in waves making his chest tighten painfully as faces flashed before his closed eyes. He'd failed so many already. Blood on his hands that could never wash away.

_'I was selfish, and now Draco has to suffer for it. Just like everyone else I get close to. Merlin help Ron and Hermione...' _

He'd known all along just what could happen if the plan went wrong but he'd refused to admit it. Now, the truth couldn't be denied. Even if he hadn't been caught and sent to prison, there had been the very real possibility he would have died in the end. Neither of them knew how the bond worked. Could one person really sustain two lives? True, Draco had insisted, and he may have gone ahead with the plan no matter what Harry decided, but that didn't change what Harry had done.

_'You willingly put another person's life in danger to save your own sorry arse. Admit it- you sank as low as one of Voldemort's pathetic little minions, consequences be damned, and you didn't care until something bad happened. Some hero you are...'_

Harry lowered his head and roughly grabbed large fistfuls of hair, letting out a frustrated cry through clenched teeth. So many people. So many lives on his conscience. He'd thought it couldn't get worse after Sirius, but he should have known better.

The guilt was unbearable. Harry was drowning in it and the faces of those he'd condemned- those he'd killed- watched on in disgust and sorrow. It was all too much for a seventeen year old boy to bear. Harry grasped blindly for the trash bin next to his night stand and had barely pulled it close before he retched violently, dry sobs wracking his slight body. He was vaguely aware of someone rubbing his back gently and whispering to him- _'How- When did they...?' _- but didn't have the energy to respond, to push them away, to do anything but sit and cry into his knees once the bin was taken away, two pairs of arms reaching out to him in comfort. The Boy Who Lived cried himself to sleep that day, held close by his two best friends, finally mourning all he'd lost in his short life and releasing years of pent up guilt and despair.

_'I'm so sorry, Draco- I failed you. I've failed them all...'_

* * *

"How could you...?" Severus whispered, horrified. The parchments shook in his unsteady hands and his mouth gaped open in a way that would mortify the Potions Master in different circumstances. He was afraid to look up, to lock gazes with Albus and those damned blue eyes of his, for if he did he feared he would lose control of the quickly mounting fury just below the surface. 

'_A _**teenager**_, for Merlin's sake!'_

"It is his life, Severus. His choice to make. His mind was set long before he came to me- before he approached Harry, even. What was I to do?" At this Snape did look up, staring at his mentor incredulously.

"What were you to _do_?" he yelled, standing suddenly to tower over the desk, "Send him to me, Albus! Let me handle it! Trust _me_ to do the right thing instead of sending him off to the slaughter! You've already sacrificed your precious Potter for the Light- how many more innocent children do you plan on _manipulating_ for 'the greater good'?"

No one knew better than Severus what Dumbledore truly felt during this time of war, for he was burdened with it as well- nothing wears on your soul as guilt. Guilt for poor decisions made for what you thought were the right reasons. Guilt for hurting innocent people. In his personal opinion, Snape believed there was nothing he could do to atone for the sins of his past. Just the same, Albus shouldered many a burden, but none so great as the life of the Boy Who Lived. He'd abandoned Harry to an unloving home knowingly for what he insisted was the boy's own good, manipulated him, withheld information, and molded him into the perfect little soldier and while Severus loathed the insufferable little Gryffindor with passion enough to rival that of the Dark Lord, it was glaringly obvious just how badly the headmaster had wronged him. Therefore, the Potions Master knew full well just how deep his words would cut, but in the heat of the moment couldn't bring himself to care.

Albus flinched and averted his eyes, stung. Few dared to speak to him thus, to purposefully hurt him, and even less succeeded. The old wizard knew his own faults far too well, and while he made certain to keep up a composed front at all times, every mistake and wrong he'd done someone, every hurt he'd caused haunted time at every moment. He was by no means infallible, he was human after all, but too many people looked to him to do the right thing. He was just as much a symbol for good as Harry was in this war, and yet he'd stolen the boy's life from him. Purposefully. Such shame at his own actions could not be put into words.

"I do not regret allowing the boy to make his own destiny, Severus. Nothing will change that. Mr. Malfoy believed he had to make up for his past in order to create a future- for everyone. I had thought you of all people would understand."

"Don't you _dare_ play those mind games with me, old man," the young spy growled, eyes flashing dangerously. "You will _not_ lay the blame on me for this mess. There are other ways to serve the light. I may have failed him before, but I never would have let him risk his life."

"He is not a child, Severus."

"And he is not a pawn!"

Snape's angry proclamation hung there in the silence. There was nothing left to say; both men knew in their hearts that the other was right, but to admit so aloud simply would not do. What's done was done, no need to discuss and argue it to death.

Severus dropped tiredly back into his chair, eyes closed, his anger spent.

"We've failed him, Albus" he muttered hoarsely. Dumbledore frowned.

"I am inclined to agree," he admitted. "However, sitting here lamenting his present state will do no good. Let us set to work on creating a different future for the boy, shall we?"

The potions master opened one eye and studied his colleague for long moments. Relaxing just slightly, he sighed deeply ans sat forward in his chair.

"What do we need to do?"

* * *

The unnatural cold of the Dementors had settled deep in Draco's bones. It had been only hours, yet he already felt horribly alone. Did anyone miss him in the slightest? Would someone visit? Were they working to free him? Or did _everyone_ believe he'd actually killed the Weaselette? 

'_It wouldn't be much of a stretch...'_ he admitted regretfully. His past was sordid at best, and he'd be a right fool to believe it wouldn't come back sooner or later to kick him in the arse. What he hadn't realized was just how hard.

_'And here I was actually trying to_**help**_ that little band of do-gooders...'_

Had he energy, or humour, enough, Draco would have laughed aloud at the abundance of irony in his life. As it was, he snorted dryly, but the sound didn't reach even his ears over the cacophony of screams and pleas of the other prisoners. If he dared listen hard enough, it was likely he would hear some wretched soul blathering on, spilling their life's story without a conscious thought.

_'Don't listen, Draco. Don't listen don't listen don't listen don't listen. If you do, you'll go nutters in no time'_

_**'Would that really be such a bad thing, Malfoy?'**_ a little voice spoke up from the back of his mind. _**'You're going to be here for quite a while...'**_

_'No. They'll come for me. Dumbledore knows I wouldn't do such a thing. Old fool he may be, but he knows I'm innocent'_

_**'Please. To him you're just a nasty, no-good little Slytherin'**_

_'That's not true. I was Potter's only hope. I still am'_

_**'Don't delude yourself, kid. You were simply a means to an end. A** _tool. _**Dumbledore can- and likely will- replace you. Face it- you're expendable'**_

_'It was _**my** _plan, dammit! They need me- it won't work for anyone else!'_

_**Oh yes it will. In fact, don't you think Professor Snape would be** _better_...**?'**_

_'Shut up!'_

_**'Prove me wrong'**_

_'Stop!'_

_**'Admit it, Malfoy!'**_

"No!" Without realizing it, Draco had curled up on himself, tucked into the cold stone corner, knees pulled up to his chest, eyes squeezed tightly shut, gripping the hair at his temples with shaking white fists. He'd always prided himself on his calm and composed mentality, but arguing with himself was _not_ a good sign.

_'For Merlin's sake, get a grip!'_

This was easier said than don, for as he tried to calm his erratic breathing and relax, memories flashed unbidden before his mind's eye yet again- only this time with much more clarity and intensity. The Dementors were close.

* * *

**A/N:** So... character-wise, how'd I do? Just this little bit took me _weeks_ of writing and re-writing, (with the help of one of my friends- Thanks, Mousie! smooch>), before I felt confident that I kept them IC, but I'm still a bit wary. Especially in terms of Harry and Draco. (I'll be happy to explain Harry's behavior should anyone find it... over-dramatic, or what have you. But anyway, onward to the promised explanation I spoke of...

First, I feel I must repeat again that this is NOT FINISHED. If the story doesn't quite make sense to you at the moment, that would likely be why. It all revolves around this mystery plan I mentioned, (alluded to), a few times, and _that_ will be explained in the next posting, which will all be completely through Draco's memories. So, if you want to know more, you must let me know by leaving a review, (which is so insanely encouraging, no matter how short or long, and no matter what you say so long as it's positive), and simply be patient.

Until the next time... Turns with a great, dramatic swirl of billowing black cloak and disappears into the shadows>


End file.
